Portrait
by Twisted-Soul123
Summary: A short tale of what happened to Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill after their marriage. A crossover. Can you guess what I crossed it over with?


Portrait

_Jane lay in bed, cold sweat gushing down her face as she moved about restlessly, trying her best to fight off demons that danced before her eyes. Her husband Frank sat solemnly beside her, clutching her hand in a vain attempt to keep her in this world. A light knock was heard, than a short, round man waddled in nervously. The butler cleared his throat, making Frank turn his head to see who it was. His usually handsome features now seemed sullen and old; he had barely eaten or slept since his wife had come into this condition shortly after the birth of their daughter. The man in the doorway rocked back and forth, appearing to ponder what it was he was to say, but Frank had no patience today._

"_What is it you want?" _

_The gentleman jumped a bit from the harsh tone, but recovered._

"_Ah, Mr. Churchill, the portrait that you ordered of your wife h-has arrived. I didn't want to disturb you…but the man delivering is very impatient, demanding his payment right away."_

_The young master gazed at the butler with a dead look before answering gruffly,_

"_Well then pay the man whatever he asks for."_

_He then turned back to face his ailing wife. The butler nodded, and was about to leave when Frank's voice sounded once again, only softer now._

"…_and have the portrait brought up here."_

_Again he nodded, "Yes, sir." then left._

_A short while later three men walked in carrying a large portrait of Jane Fairfax Churchill. Frank barely glanced at them.  
"Set it at the end of the bed."_

_Shrugging, the lifters scuttled to the base of the bed and set the picture down, looking at their master with sympathetic eyes. He felt their stares and quickly cried,_

"_Out!" to which they hurried out with many "Yes sirs" and "So sorry sirs." As soon as the door clicked shut, Frank buried his head in his hand, the other grasping Jane's hand tighter, causing her to yelp in pain. He loosened his grip and turned his watery eyes to her face. Her brown eyes were squeezed shut in pain, her face red from fever, and her teeth clenched together in a grim expression. Slowly, his gaze turned to her portrait. It truly was beautiful, just as she was. The portrait's face was calm, an amused smile pulled at the corners of her thin lips. Hands gingerly folded in her lap, a fan held lightly between them. Smiling slightly, he remembered how they had first met, and how a few days afterward at a party she had held a half closed fan to her lips. He had obliged of course, shortly there after in the garden. _

_He looked down at the real Jane, writhing in pain. He knew she was dying; the doctor's hadn't said it to him straight, but he knew. He knew from the way they had avoided looking right at him, and how they had rushed out so quickly. They didn't want to be around death._

_"Neither do I." he murmured. Again he looked at the portrait, the look of amusement eternally painted on to a canvas. It seemed to look down at its dying original with a mocking smirk, knowing that it would last forever. _

_Frank suddenly hated it. Why should this thing, a mere imitation of beauty, live on when his own Madonna should be taken from him? Glaring with such anger and hatred at the portrait, the grieving man suddenly yelled, "You do not deserve your immortality! Not as my Jane does! She has done nothing to anyone, yet she is fated to die right before me!! And you will always be a reminder to me of what I have lost!! OH cursed fate! That only Jane would have your longevity, portrait! I wish it with all my heart! And I know Jane would want it! She would want to live!! She would give her soul to see her baby girl!!! Damn you!!"_

_At that moment, Jane went still. Frozen, Frank's throat closed up, his words choking him. Slowly, he turned to look down at his wife. And she looked back up at him. She blinked slowly, as if waking from a long dream._

"…_Frank, darling. Where…where is the baby? Where is our child?"_

_Her husband searched her face for any sign of her fever or ailment; nothing. Her brown hair was plated against her head with sweat, but the fever was gone from her face and her brown eyes looked up at him in question. With a shout of joy he grabbed her up in arms, holding her to him tightly. This startled her and she was about to pull back when she felt his body trembling, tears soaking her shoulder. Gingerly she wrapped her arms around him, laying her cheek against the back of his head._

_"Shh...shh...it's alright.." she cooed, not entirely sure why he was so upset, but decided to ask after he had regained his composer. As she gently rubbed her sobbing husband's back, she looked about the room, and as she reached the foot of her bed was met with a similar stare. _

"_Oh…so that portrait was done. It is very nice…but…" she squinted at it. "Frank, I don't remember having such a red face that day; or looking so strained. I am smiling, yes, but it's as if I was in pain. What do you think?"_

_Now in more control of himself, Frank looked up from Jane's shoulder at the picture. _

"_It's just the way the light is hitting it, dearest. And I'm sure you're very tired, causing your eyesight to blur." He responded, kissing her softly on the cheek. Jane let her arms drop from her husband's form, her lips grazing his eyelid before lying back down, exhausted._

"_Of course…I'm sure it's nothing. Now, where is my child?"_

Jane stood in front of what was left of the house she and her husband had lived in with their three children. They had lived a happy life together, though they had moved several times, before at last settling in the Irish countryside. Their children all grown and gone, Frank had wanted to live out the rest of his days in peace, which, fortunately, he had. Died at sixty-eight, and now lay in a small graveyard in Ireland. Jane missed him more than she thought she would. She was old too now, but only felt it in her soul.

It had been nearly one hundred years since she had last visited the house. Her eyes had a look of someone who had seen too much of life, but couldn't let go. Men passing by looked at her with interest; after all a pretty young woman with such a strong aura was hard to ignore.

She had gone to see another person earlier that day that was in the same predicament as her. But upon her arrival, she learned that he had had an untimely death. When she began to question, the maid clamed up, saying that he was dead and that was all anyone needed to know, than slammed the door in her face. Jane hadn't felt so lonely in all her life. The man she loved had long since died, and the one other person who could have been her companion had somehow managed to achieve the one thing she could not. At first she had thought of him as selfish for not sharing the secret. But then, after the initial shock wore off, she decided he had probably been there longer than she, and she was happy for him. That still did not stop her from feeling a dark, gaping hole inside her chest.

Pushing some chestnut colored hair behind her ear, Jane held a large, rectangular object wrapped in thick cloth closely to her side. A wry, stretched smile played upon her young lips, as a tear slid down her face.

"Oh Frank…you kind hearted, impulsive fool."


End file.
